Grief
by elleindie
Summary: Chloe supports Clark after his father's funeral.  PostReckoning.
1. Preface

**Preface**

The ability to care.

That in itself is a superpower, one that every human being on Earth possesses.

But the difference between a hero and those whom the hero works to protect, is the knowledge of how to use this sacred power. It's not a switch to be turned on and off at will, not a whim to be treated lightly.

The desire to use it, the desire to be a true hero. . .

. . . Comes from the heart.


	2. Grief

As Chloe slipped her car into park and turned the key, she looked around, past the slightly fogged windows of her VW Bug and the snowflakes drifting by lazily. It could have been a beautiful day; a light layer of fresh snow coated the frozen ground, the branches of the trees heavy and glistening with icicles, which tinkled gently in the crisp breeze and sent dazzling prisms in every direction under the weak sunlight.

But one look at the quaint farmhouse and it was clear that today was not a good day. Even though the house hadn't changed one bit in physical appearance, the emotions of its inhabitants seemed to reflect perfectly on the yellow siding. The atmosphere of the Kent farm had changed drastically in the past seventy-two hours.

She hadn't seen Clark in two days; between the chaos of that night and making funeral arrangements, he and Mrs. Kent had both been absent from the Smallville public eyes. Chloe didn't blame them; they both deserved to grieve outside of the spotlight they were now subject to due to the election.

And now that the election was over, Chloe knew that Clark's immediate reaction would be to lock himself away from the world. He'd probably spend days in his loft, not eating, and blaming himself.

If Clark Kent had one flaw, it was that he mentally and emotionally pummeled himself for things beyond his control.

She pushed open the door of her car and climbed out, the half-inch of fresh snowfall crunching beneath her feet. When she reached the back door after a cautious, slow traverse up the icy sidewalk, she was half-tempted to turn and leave again, to leave the Kents to mourn their loss. But she closed her eyes and raised her hand, her knuckles rapping lightly on the glass.

When Martha Kent opened the door, Chloe was not surprised to see that she had been crying, her eyes red and swollen. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

"Chloe? Is anything wrong?"

Chloe shook her head. "Mrs. Kent, I'm so sorry to bother you," she said quietly, "but is Clark home?"

Martha nodded; Chloe noticed the tissue she was balling up in the hand that held the door. "In his bedroom. . . Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

Perhaps her expression told Martha she was nervous? She assumed a gentle smile. "No, I was just wondering if I could talk to him."

Martha closed her eyes and nodded again, attempting a watery smile. "Of course, Chloe. Of course." She moved aside to let Chloe in and closed the door behind with a sniffle.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kent."

Chloe crossed the kitchen and began to climb the staircase, the wall of which was lined with photographs; one of Clark from elementary school, before she knew him, all bright eyes and goofy smile; one of Mr. and Mrs. Kent, both smiling happily and looking just as in love as they had looked at the victory party. . .

And one of Clark and his parents, Martha nestled cozily between Clark and Jonathan, safe and protected by her men. Chloe tore her eyes away from the smiling faces as she reached the landing; Clark's door stood, three feet away, closed but for an inch or so.

She reached it and knocked lightly; a soft "It's open" issued from within and she eased it open just far enough to slip inside before closing it again.

Clark was sitting on the edge of the bed facing the window, still clad in his black suit and tie. His back was to her; a slight turn of his head was the only sign that he had acknowledged her presence.

"Your mom told me to com on up," Chloe said quietly, clasping her hands together in front of her.

"How did you know I was here?" His voice was low and sounded tired. Chloe took a deep breath.

"Because I know you. And I knew the first place you would go," she said, raising an eyebrow, "was home."

Clark didn't say anything, simply turned back to face the window, where navy blue curtains framed a picturesque windmill, coated with snow and ice. Chloe took a step forward, but didn't cross the room to where he sat.

She cleared her throat and bowed her head. "Clark. . . I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything, and she kept her eyes on the floor, tracing the way the hardwood gracefully entwined. Only when she heard Clark's breathing hitch did she lift her head. From where she stood, she saw Clark's muscular back heaving with suppressed sobs.

In a flash she had rounded the bed and Clark was holding onto her, his tears soaking the shoulder of her black wool coat. She wrapped her arms around him, smoothing his dark curls comfortingly.

She was so used to "Super Clark," the Clark that withstood what would effect most as physical pain without so much as a flinch of a muscle or a blink of an eye, that seeing him in emotional agony seemed surreal. For the first time in her life, words had completely failed her; instead she continued to allow him to cry on her shoulder, to hold and comfort and feel his shuddering breaths beneath her fingertips.

A few minutes later Clark pulled away, his eyes slightly swollen, tear tracks staining his defined cheeks. He quickly raised a hand to wipe these away, muttering something that sounded like "I'm sorry," and turning away from her. Before he had successfully done so, however, she caught his hands, pulling the one on his face away. He turned and gazed back at her with light teal eyes, much lighter than they usually were (although, Chloe recalled, Clark's eyes had the amazing habit of shifting shades with his emotions).

She fixed him with a soft, assuring smile. "If anyone deserves to shed a few tears now and then, it's a superhero, Clark."

"I'm not a hero, Chloe." Clark pulled his hands away from hers gently and stood up, his eyes gazing out across the farm again. Chloe doubted he really saw anything. "I caused my own father. . ." Chloe watched as his clefted chin fell towards his chest, his voice drifting into silence. "All because my stubbornness, and stupidity, caused Lana's death to begin with." He placed a palm against the cool glass of the window. "It's all my fault."

Chloe shook her head and stood up, moving to stand beside him as he continued to gaze out the window, his expression almost blank but for the heart wrenching sadness. "Clark, you can't blame yourself."

"If I had only listened—"

"What could you have done?" Chloe sighed, moving between Clark and the window so that she was peering into his eyes. "You could have listened to Jor-El, abandoned your mom, your dad, Lana, me. . . You could have gone back, leaving us to wonder what was happening to you, when you would come back, without seeing or hearing from you for months, even years? Wondering if we'd ever see you again, or, if or when you _did_ come back, what Jor-El had done to you? Would you even be the same Clark that loved and adored his friends and family, or some mindless clone sent to do Jor-El's bidding?" Chloe felt a white-hot tear slip down her cheek before she plowed on. "Or you could have done things exactly the way you did, choosing your real family over some bodiless voice in a giant igloo, choosing to spend time with the people who respect you, and care about you, and would do anything to protect you and your secret." She felt more tears track down her face, a few clinging to her eyelashes; her breathing was shallow, but she continued. "People who love you, and refuse to see you like this."

"Chloe. . ." Clark started, her gaze captured in his piercing sea-green one. The emotions she saw there – sadness, anger, heartbreak, hatred, blame, confusion, loss, love – all pounding one another aside, causing the ensuing waves to not only make themselves apparent in his eyes but also across his perfect, somber features as well.

"Clark," Chloe said, her voice low and rough, "you and I both know you could never have chosen between a three-way rope with your dad, Lana, and the world all holding an end. It would destroy you." Chloe felt the small wall of restraint she still had left break. She could barely hold back her sobs as she said, "And I love you too much to see you like that. Like _this."_

She wasn't aware of exactly how it had happened, but somehow Clark's arms had ended up around her again, while she clutched onto the collar of his suit jacket, tears creating a small damp spot on his chest. His embrace was warm and gentle, yet firm enough to tell Chloe he wouldn't let go until she was ready. It was comforting, and after a few moments, Clark said, "You sound like my mom," a small hint of a smile apparent in his voice.

Chloe allowed a small, watery laugh to escape past her lips. She pulled herself away from his embrace, forcing herself to look up into his eyes. She felt the remnants of her tears on her cheeks, and even as she began to lift her hand to wipe them away, Clark's thumb was doing it for her. She closed her eyes and allowed him to.

A split second later, his soft lips were on her cheek. She breathed in the scent of his cologne and the slight citrus of his shampoo. When he pulled away, Chloe opened her eyes reluctantly; it ended all too soon.

Clark was baring a small, bittersweet smile. "How did I get so lucky to have such amazing friends?" he quipped, his voice still low.

Chloe sniffled and shrugged. "One of the blessings of crash-landing in Smallville, I guess," she said. Clark let out a quiet chuckle before retreating back to the bed and sitting on it; Chloe followed.

"You know," he said, looking at his hands, "I always thought that it was some horrible curse Jor-El had cast upon Smallville. Like he was trying to punish you all for something."

"But what?" Chloe asked, skeptical. "Clark, you landed here because Jor-El wanted to protect you, and there isn't any way you can get around that." She watched his expression closely. "It wasn't a curse."

The corner of his mouth was turned down in a slight frown. "Definitely not a blessing," he mumbled. "In all ways but one."

He tore his eyes away from his hands. "Now that I know what was waiting for me in Smallville, I wouldn't change a thing. This life. . . my parents. . ." Chloe's eyes locked with his. "My friends." His frown disappeared. "I couldn't have asked for better."

Chloe grinned shakily. "I wouldn't change it either." Then with a small laugh, she added, "It's not everyday a girl gets her own pet alien."

Clark shook his head, his mouth curved upwards in his own small smile. "Thanks, Chlo."

Chloe furrowed her eyebrows and looked out the window. "I don't deserve thanks."

Clark scoffed. "Without you I might have done something stupid by now. . . Red K, or something worse. . ." With a small shudder – Chloe guessed he was repressing the memories of the damage he had caused on red kryptonite two years ago – he captured her attention again. "You kept me sane. You have no idea how much that means to me."

Chloe could almost hear the words Clark left unsaid, hanging in the air: _How much _you _mean to me._

She smiled softly. "That's me, alien life support."

- - -

She had spent only an hour more with Clark; most of that time had been spent sitting curled up on his bed while they relayed old high school stories. . . The time Clark and Pete had snuck to Metropolis for a football game and hadn't gotten home until three in the morning on a school night; the story about when Chloe and Lana had almost burnt the Sullivan house down after watching Emeril and deciding to try flambé. They speculated what Pete was up to these days; Clark guessed he was in college and making a run for politics – Chloe assumed he was driving school busses by day and moonlighting as an exotic dancer, which had caused both of them to snort into pillows to repress their laughter.

Anything to keep the conversation away from Jonathan, which was what Clark wanted, and so soon afterwards, Chloe understood and didn't argue.

When Chloe announced that she had to leave somewhat regretfully, Clark wrapped his warm arms around her again.

"Thank you, Chloe," he had whispered into her hair. "For everything."

Now that she was in her car on the way back to Metropolis, she replayed parts of the afternoon in her head…

_"This life. . . my parents. . . my friends. I couldn't have asked for better."_

Chloe smiled to herself. _She_ was the lucky one, to have met Clark Kent. Despite everything, she still had him to turn to.

The events of the last dozen or so weeks had made her feel more out of touch with Clark than ever. She could never understand what it was like to want so much to be normal. . . Then, even worse, to finally have that wish granted, only to have it brutally ripped away. . .

And to die. No, Chloe could never begin to fathom the things Clark had been through in the past weeks.

The world around her felt frozen, more so than by just the temperature. A small shiver ran up and down her back that had nothing to do with the chill. She had the feeling that perhaps now, in his solitude, Clark was grieving. Grieving in a way he would hide from the world, from Lana, from herself.

And then, in that moment, Chloe realized she had never loved Clark more than she did now. So many lives he'd seen ruined, the daily turmoil of not being able to save everyone. . .

Clark was a hero, in every sense of the word. He didn't need superpowers – they were just an added bonus. He already had a heart.

Let him grieve. Let him shed tears. Clark deserved that much. Clark deserved the love and affection he showed his friends, his family.

Clark deserved happiness.

Chloe only hoped that he found it.

---


End file.
